Feeling Lonely

When I was younger, one of my favorite games to play went something like this: I was at home minding my own business, there was a knock at my door, and I answered the door and found a baby in a basket on the porch with a note that told me to take care of the baby forever. So I did. I loved the feeling that someone else trusted me to care for their child.

As a young married person, I have had probably 30 dreams in total wherein someone around me has a baby and that person is unable to care for the baby for whatever reason. So the baby is given to me to care for forever and raise as my own child.

When Dave and I decided to try to get pregnant, my prayer was always that God would give me peace through the whole thing. I don't remember ever once in the first year or so praying that I would get pregnant soon. It was always asking for peace with God's timing or comfort in the sadness. I didn't plan to pray that way; I just realized a few months ago that I had been praying that way.

When we told people we were starting to try to get pregnant, I always warned, "this could take a while, so don't go crazy just yet" or "who knows what will happen or how long it will take."

Maybe my own intense desires for children clouded my sight for the past 24 years, but I'm beginning to see that God has been preparing me slowly and surely for a struggle with infertility.

I'm not happy with this struggle. As a girl who grew up in church, a young woman figuring out her own faith and the way faith works in general, it's hard for me to say that I'm not happy with where God has placed me. There are days that I'm angry and sad, disappointed with myself, frustrated in my place in life, days that I'm searing with jealousy, days that I want to sleep it off and numb myself to 'infertile living.' There are days where I am lonely for a child in the very pit of me and it's too much to ignore. I absolutely have the desire to carry a child, to give birth, to experience pregnancy, and it hurts me to imagine my life without that experience. Maybe it will happen for me someday. Maybe it won't.

But there are days where I understand a small piece of God's perfect plan. Days I can look at the past and think, "even if I don’t understand it, I was made for this." There are days where I know that my timing wasn't great, and I am thankful I didn't get pregnant right away. I have great joy for friends who are pregnant. I have the desire to live my life to show God's glory, no matter what that means for me and my journey to parenthood. I can honestly say that if this is how God wants to use me, I can handle infertility. Some days it is hard. Very very hard. Some days it isn't.

I definitely don't want sympathy for writing this post; I just want to be completely honest with my life. It's not all perfect, it doesn't all make sense. Infertility is something that's not really talked about very much. So if there are even two people out there who read my blog and are going through the same thing, I want them to know I'm here. I get it. I'm sorry for what you're dealing with, friend. I'm praying for you and I wish so very much that you didn't have to go through this. As you're going though, know you're not alone. There are so many women thrown into this same crappy battle. If you're in the Nashville area and you're struggling with infertility and you would like someone to talk to, email me. We can get together for coffee. I will just sit and listen, if that's what you need. I will cry with you, if that's what you need. I'll pray with you and try to encourage you as best I can, if that's what you need. I have good days and I have bad days, just like you do. So let's do this together.

Haiti - Take 2

Last week I was asked to return to Haiti this summer to lead a trip for the church youth group. If you are a regular 'round these parts, you know how much I loved my trip to Haiti. It completely changed my life.

Because of all the hubbub surrounding Straw Heart Project, I was unsure about saying yes, initially. I wanted to be available for SHP and didn't know if Haiti would interfere with that. Finally I made the decision to go, and I am SO so glad I did.

I cannot wait to get back to Haiti and experience this joy again.

Though, I'm hoping for a boot and crutchesless trip this time.

A Big Story about a Little Idea

Once upon a time, there was a lady who called her self gypsy-hearted because she bounced from passion to passion and couldn't ever find "the thing" that made her happy for a long time. Well, I mean, her husband and her family and her friends made her really happy... but the other "thing."

Sometimes people would ask her, "If you could have any job in the whole world, what would it be?" And she was like, "ummm.... well... I don't really know...." and she felt confused about her gypsy-heart. She couldn't understand herself and that was sad because movies and tv had taught her that she couldn't be happy until she figured her own life out.

Then one day, she went to Haiti and learned the names of 30 orphans. She held them and played with them and sang songs in Creole with them. They loudly knocked on her heart and marched themselves right in. And there they sat for months and months. The girl had dreams about the orphans, told stories about them, looked at pictures of them over and over. She wanted to do more.

After months of thinking about her friends in Haiti, she finally had an idea. She could help them. She couldn't adopt just yet, but she could help other people who could adopt. So she made t-shirts and tote bags and coloring books. She had about 70,000 other ideas of ways to raise money for adoptions, but she was "too busy" to put the ideas to use.

After another couple months of having new ideas, she had one big idea. One idea that made her very excited and very nervous. She thought, "surely I'm not the only gypsy-hearted artist who cares about orphans and about adoption. There have got to be more people like me." That day she wrote up an outline for a nameless idea that would put artists and adopting families together to raise money. Her wandering soul was so happy. She could keep coming up with new ideas, bounce around from project to project, help families, help orphans, meet new people, and be creative every day.

She began to tell people about her little idea, and they got excited too. They said very nice things about her idea and encouraged her to keep going with it. Friends and strangers offered to help and wanted to learn more. In just a few days, her little idea went from a fun personal project to a website with almost 800 views in one day. Her heart was exploding with happiness and thankfulness and excitement.

The End. Except it is not actually the end. It's just the beginning.

Prayer Requests

I'm popping in to say hello on my coffee break this morning because I had a super busy weekend that didn't involve much blogging. Or any. One of the things I got to do this weekend was an event called The Movement set up by high school kids who are starting to raise awareness for orphan care in their high schools. Amazing and inspirational. I'm so proud of those kids (I know a few who are involved) and what they're doing. It helps that I'm riding an adoption and orphan care wave right now as well, and this upcoming week is exciting for that very reason.

This week is a big week for me for a couple of different reasons, and I just wanted to let you know in case you'd like to say a prayer for me. I've got the day off of work on Wednesday, and I crampacked it with meetings and non-work working and brainstorming sessions and all sorts of things to that effect. All sorts of things that I'm filled to the brim with excitement about.

I'm praying that God will take my tiny seed of an idea and grow it into something awesome. I'm praying that bits and pieces of things in my life that haven't always made sense will finally fit together. I'm praying that I'll be able to make my thoughts come across well and make sense to other people, and I'm praying that I won't be discouraged and blocked by my own self-doubt. Join me, if you're the praying type. I could really use it on Wednesday!

My Hope

I'm feeling a little gross today. Upset stomach, really sleep deprived, and a tinge cranky. But no need to worry, friends. Because yesterday was great.

I help lead a 9th grade girls Bible study at my church and last night we talked about the fact that each person who believes in Christ has a story to tell. We get caught up in trying to fit in or trying to lay low and we forget that the story we have to tell is important and life-changing. We encouraged the girls to share their personal stories about when they first believed that God was God and how their relationship with Him started.

Almost all the girls have shared at this point. Just two or three of the 14 are still holding out. A couple of them have brought me to tears. A couple of them have made me laugh (in a good way, of course) and a couple of them have challenged me to rethink the way I'm doing Christianity. Because these girls have been so willing to share their stories, I decided that today I'd tell you the greatest story I know.

I was practically born in a church. My dad was a youth and music minister and we were in the pew rain or shine, sickness or health, day and night. We even sat in the same spot in each church we attended. Third row back from the piano.

I have always been a rule follower. It was easy for me to obey and to do what was expected and I was always the kid saying, "You’re going to get in so much trouble!" My life of following rules was an easy transition into walking down the center aisle at church to learn about how to become a Christian. My parents and the pastor explained to me what that meant. I believed every word.

God is holy -set apart. He created man and woman in His own image, but Adam and Eve went against what God had planned for them. Their sin broke the bond we had with God and sin deserves death. Because life outside of Christ is a terrible and hopeless thing and God knew that when He made us, He wants us to live for Him. Every person from that day forward has sinned and so every person from that day forward deserved to be separated eternally from Christ by going to Hell. That's a little heavy, right? The God who created the universe also put eyelashes on me. He wants me to know Him because He's awesome. If I refuse to know Him, I'm going to suffer for it and He knows that and wants us to choose Him. Because God loved me in a way that still doesn't make sense, He sent his son, Jesus, to earth to act as a bridge between our sinful lives and His complete forgiveness. Jesus was 100% God and 100% man.

As a kid that didn't make much sense to me, and honestly it still doesn't make sense. But my mind is finite, and I'm okay with not understanding everything. What I did understand was that Jesus died a terribly painful death. He was tortured and beaten because the love He had for me was so incredibly powerful that He chose to die - to take my place - because He wanted me to be with Him in Heaven after I die. His death gave me life. And do you know what happened after He died on the cross? He came back from the grave. For real. He was alive. People didn't believe it, but it was real. He told them to tell their friends and they did because it was... well... shocking, I'm sure. But also because it was a relief. His life and His death and His resurrection from the grave are exactly what had been promised to us. His death saved us. His death saved me.

Isn't that ridiculous? ME. I do some really awful stuff. I'm still a rule follower for the most part... but I am rotten. Rotten to the core. I'm judgmental and I'm selfish and I ignore Him most of the time. I go through life like I don't need Him far too often. But He's still completely in love with me. That sure doesn't make sense to me either. I'm very unlovely at times and He's still jealous for me. Because I believe that I'm a sinner and that my life is nowhere near complete without His love and forgiveness, I am trying to live a life in relationship with Him. I've accepted Him into my life and I'm forever saved. I can't lose that. He won't go back on His word. I've been washed clean by His grace.

I've been washed clean by His grace.

It hasn't always been easy. You can read about how NOT easy it has been here. Being a Christian doesn’t mean life is perfect. It means life is hopeful.

All the really awful stuff is temporary. The stomach aches and the sleep deprivation too, I suppose. If you want to know more about being a Christian or if you want to share YOUR story with me... I would SO love to hear that. Shoot me an email (stephhagenart@gmail.com ) or leave a message in the comments section. I promise I will really listen to what you have to say.

Power

Preoccupied is probably a good word for it. Maybe lazy, maybe boring, maybe busy? Whatever you name it, it is the same thing. It's an empty blog. Sorry things have been so quiet this week. I just didn't really feel like I had much to say. But today I kind of do.

I had ONE difficult day this week in regards to all the non-pregnancy stuff and I've been thinking a bit lately about my purpose here on Earth and how I'm not sure I have one. Like maybe I'm not meant for something really. Which I wholly believe isn't true, but sometimes you have those days, you know? Where you don't feel you're getting to use your talents or your interests except for a few hours a week? And surely God wouldn't have given me this heart and this mind if all I was supposed to do was doodle on a note pad while I'm answering phones at a desk job or just visit other people's kids now and again but not have any of my own. Surely I wasn't meant to be where I am. But this sounds like whining to me, so let's move on.

Even though I had those heavy thoughts lately, they didn't pull me under like bad days sometimes do. They didn't grab hold and seep their sticky sadness into the rest of me. And that got me thinking about the fact that I have really been in a great place lately. It's been a long time since I've been dragged down by depression. Like... longer than I ever remember going before between bouts of sadness. Like... over a year maybe. And friends, I cannot tell you how excited I've been by this realization. Progress maybe? Hormonal changes maybe? Diet and exercise lately has helped, I'm sure. Maybe I'm just growing up.

Sure I have bad days now and again like I did this week, but they don't seem endless. And they don't seem so absolutely insurmountable. And they don't seem all encompassing. They feel like something I can handle. The amount of thankfulness I feel about that can't really be described to you. I can tell you that I'm tearing up as I'm writing this because I'm so overwhelmingly full of thankfulness. I can tell you that I want to hug the neck of Christ and jump up and down with Him saying, "thank you, thank you, thank you!" over and over like I'm 8 years old and He's just given me a new pink bicycle with sparkles on the handlebars and a little basket in the front for keeping dolls and treasures. I can tell you a lot of things about the way it makes me feel, but I won't do it justice.

When I was putting together this blog post, I was looking back through some older blog posts about my history of depression and I saw this post about a sense of peace and contentment I had exactly this time last year. And then when I read the last paragraph of that post in October 2009 I wanted to tell the world that prayer is a mighty warrior when you don't feel like standing up to fight for yourself.

So I guess that's what I came here to say today. I had a bad day. I'm doing fine. Prayer works.

Overfull on Time

I was listening to the new Ray LaMontagne album yesterday morning. There's a line in one of the songs that says something normal, but smooth... you know, the way Ray does. And I kind of misheard it and knew that I hadn't heard it correctly, but I liked what I thought it said anyway.

What I heard was, "hungry for life and overfull on time." And I thought wow, that's an awesome line. And I thought that's so me. I sat down at my desk and looked up the lyrics, and I was way off, but I still love what I thought I heard.

The past couple of weeks at work have been.... difficult? Maybe that's a good PC word for it. I have been very much hungry for life but overfull on time. I've been mopey and that's not a good place to be.

Yesterday I got a phone call from someone who calls us to chat several times a week. Normally I go along with it, and think really mean things like, "you know... this is my job. I have things to do apart from talking on the phone all day." Yesterday I thought I was getting one of those calls. He started to small talk for a few minutes, I was in a foul mood, and I just listened halfheartedly until he said, "Steph, I have something I'd like to share with you. I had a spot removed earlier this week and they think it might be cancer. I'm supposed to hear back today or tomorrow; I wanted to let you know so you and the rest of the office can be praying for me."

That made me pay attention. So, I told one of the ladies in the office that talks with him often so we could both pray for him. About five minutes later, he called again and said, "Well, Steph... I have some good news for you. I just got the call from my nurse, and it's not cancer!" We talked again for a few minutes, and he began to cry while saying how great God is and how full of mercy and grace He is, how thankful he was for Christ's love and compassion in his life. And the whole time my friend was talking and crying, I was crying right along with him.

I'd been so selfish and concerned with the junk in my life... so hungry for different life, that I hadn't stopped to look outward and see that I have time. Sometimes God uses someone else's issues to bring me to my knees. I forget that too much.

Gray

Dave snapped this picture on Thursday of last week. Since he has asked me to not go into detail about the situation (even though the whole thing is kind of funny,) and I do what I can to not blatantly go against his wishes, suffice it to say we were temporarily without car and walking to a fast food place down the street from my office. And not happy about it. We were feeling a little grumpy, a little annoyed, a little distressed. As we started walking, it began to rain, which obviously really helped our situation and then I ripped my pants. I know that's not a big deal, but just a funny cherry on top of the whole situation. Union Station in its Gothic glory and storm clouds rolling in really captured our mood.

You know how sometimes you're in a moment that makes you just want to yell, "seriously?!" Well, the past month or so have been one "seriously" moment after another, it seems. I've told you about a couple of them, but there are more, I assure you. We have been to the point a couple of times where there are literally no options and we're forced to wait it out wondering what the purpose is behind all of this... what lesson we're supposed to be learning, what piece of the puzzle the truck brakes going out are, or the car accident was, or how large and unexpected questions arising make sense in the big picture.

Yesterday we visited a church in Franklin where Dr. Jacob Bernard was speaking. Dr. Bernard is the man who runs the orphanage we visited in Haiti. He is a major inspiration. His story is fascinating and touching, and his life is one of impact on a global scale. We were excited to see him again. Every time he mentioned the children of Port au Prince or the babies in the orphanage, I teared up. It still hits me and it still hits me hard. He spoke about the deep need that has a grip on Haiti and the call that some of us have to help. And before you think that this is all out of context... all the junk in my life over the past two months was suddenly meaningless. It just fell away. It wasn't about my big picture or my life lessons and learning things. It was a relief to the distractions. I was pulled so strongly back to Haiti and to those children. I was back to aching for them and hoping for them and wanting to bring them into my home.


Today is the 6th month anniversary of the earthquake. The 6th month anniversary of when my eyes were opened to Haiti and just hints of its impact on me began to show. I love Haiti. I love the people. I love the way it has changed me. I love the way I can suddenly feel like my life is just as insignificant as its supposed to be when I think of Haiti.

Kindness

There's a painting I just 1/2 finished (meaning, it could be considered finished by some people and if I weren't so persnickety I might also call it finished) that's a simple textured green background with white letters. It says, "be kind. it matters." It's a reminder to myself that even when I'm a total grumpus and I'm having a really super terrible day, it's crucial to be kind to the people around me. The people I love and know very well and the people I don't know very well and only love out of principle. Because you're supposed to love everyone, right? And there are a lot of people that I really really love. Out of principle. And I've been thinking about kindness a lot lately.

This weekend, my youngest sister, my mom, and two friends came into town to visit. One evening we walked them around downtown to see some of the Honky Tonks and bright lights and cheap souvenirs. We walked through "Printer's Alley" on the way to the car, which is sort of a shady place in Nashville. Shady as in nude karaoke, so you know... seriously shady. A very stumbling homeless man holding a bottle of mouth wash (that wasn't filled with mouth wash) came over to my husband and mumbled something inaudible. Dave leaned in, the man repeated himself, "will you shake my hand?" Dave said, "yeah, of course." Shook his hand and stood and talked for a moment. Dave mostly saying, "I'm sorry? I didn't understand that." And things of that nature. For some reason, with all these thoughts on kindness floating around in my head lately, standing there watching Dave politely talking and shaking hands with a man who was so entirely sloppy drunk and incomprehensible and shouting profanities, I got choked up. Now, that's obviously a testament to how irrational I am... that a homeless man yelling curses outside of a nude karaoke bar was a sweet emotional moment for me, but it's also a great example of the kind of man I'm married to. That he stands there shaking hands for a few minutes and trying to talk with said homeless man.

But, that's not entirely what this blog post is about. This is really about a very sweet couple that will remain nameless for the purpose of this little space. These are people who have only spent a tiny bit of time with us. Hardly know me, I feel. Great people, as far as I know. Really great.

And for some reason, I keep trying to give excuses for their kindness. Because if they did know me better, perhaps they wouldn't be so kind... and maybe it's easier for them to be generous because they don't know first hand how I think or act or feel. How I can get so judgmental, or how I can be selfish and materialistic, or the way I forget about being kind sometimes when the people I'm not nice to desperately need me to be nice. Maybe if they knew those things about me, they wouldn't have given us the gift they did. They wouldn't have cared so much that they went out of their way to be good people to us. Because if they were so so kind and generous to the person they think I am, I ought to try to be that person, right?

And thinking about all of that gets to this place that feels a lot like grace, and a lot like mercy, and a lot like Christ. I am not who I want to be and I'm not perfect. Not even remotely close. But there is kindness out there waiting for me regardless of the mess I am. So thank you so very much, friends. Thank you for being generous and altruistic and for giving me a snapshot of grace in a moment that surely needed it.

Grasshopper

My dad always says, "patience, young grasshopper." It must be one of his catch phrases because he's always saying it to me. Either that, or it just happens to be applicable to 1/4 of the conversations I start with him.

My whole life, my dad was a youth minister. Which meant when I was about 3 through the end of the 6th grade, I wanted to hang out with the kids in the youth group. I wanted to carry my caboodle around to retreats, hairspray myself to toxic levels, and go to prom. In 7th grade, I wanted to go to college and get married. In high school I really wanted to go to college and get married.

In college I got married. So then I had to want something else, naturally. So about 2o seconds after we moved into our first rental house, I decided I wanted to have kids. Granted I was newly 19 and everyone thought I was crazy enough to get married that young - having kids would seem a little desperate. And heaven forbid I seem desperate.

Soon we moved to big ol' Music City where I got to concentrate on what I wanted for Dave. I wanted him to find a great internship, I wanted him to make great connections, I wanted him to become the youngest producer in history to win a Dove, a Grammy, a big house with a room full of swings and pillows, ownership of the music industry, miniature horses... and of course he'd have a great sense of humility through it all. That, surprisingly, didn't happen right away. We're 3 years in, which I know isn't much - especially for the music business, and I still have so many wants through the whole thing.

And then one day last week I was sitting here thinking about that and wanting kids and wanting stability and wanting an ice cream sandwich and THIS little nugget popped into my head, "The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want." And then it kept repeating. Over and over. And I didn't want it to - I wanted to kind of ignore it. Put it back in its "things I heard 20 years ago and can now skip over" box. I sat at my desk and answered phone calls and it just kept repeating. I shall not want, I shall not want, STEPH - YOU shall not want.

So I pulled up a link to Psalm 23 on the computer and started writing it down.
The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul. He leads me in paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me. You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; you anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

God just said, "patience young grasshopper" to me. I didn't even know he liked Karate Kid.

Pre-Mother's Day

Before the big mother's day festivities, I want to talk about my own "before motherhood."

To get a bit of background on my thoughts of being a mother someday (if you haven't been following this blog long) check here and here.

Last Mother's Day was rough. I'm pretty sure I cried through the whole day off and on. Everything about that day was a reminder to me that something was missing from my life and I felt totally alone in that. Everyone was pregnant. Everyone had kids. Everyone was celebrating except for me. I was bitter and sad. I was frantic about all of the unknowns - thinking about getting pregnant but not being able to, wanting to have kids but knowing a wait was in store... it was all just very overwhelming. I was afraid of infertility, of instability, of timing outside of my control, and of so many other things.

Because I've written about all of that before, I just want to say to any of you that may be going through some of that this weekend: you AREN'T alone. Everyone is not pregnant. Everyone doesn't have kids. Lots of people are hurting along side you. These words won't help. I know that. But I needed to say them. If nothing else, just so I could read back over them and know that I thought that at one point in my own life and that I said it. I'm hopeful that this Sunday will be better for me than last Mother's Day was, that God would calm my anxious spirit, and that anyone else going through infertility, waiting, miscarriages, sadness, hurt, or bitterness would have an overpowering hope this weekend.

Haiti - Days 7 and 8

Leaving Haiti was difficult. I think if you've been reading along the past week, you'll understand why. The last two days were spent packing, visiting a local tourist area called the Baptist Mission, and saying our goodbyes. I got to go down to the Cretch and visit the children again and spend some time reflecting and getting closer with the whole team.

I am missing the bright colors everywhere, the kids and the people we met, I am missing being surrounded in the joy that the people of Haiti have, the smiles that break through the language barrier, and the purpose I felt while we were there. I just want to say thank you so much to all of you who helped us go with financial support, prayer, encouragement, and good wishes. We appreciate each of you more than we can express fully. Thank you for being a part of something that changed our lives and the lives of others. We couldn't have had this experience without you. Thanks, thanks, thanks. Mesi, Mwen renmen ou.

Haiti - Day 6

This is Canez. It is hands-down the most simultaneously beautiful and desolate place I've ever seen. As we drove through the desert over the hill and saw this view, cameras all through the bus popped out of the windows so people could capture this beauty. The lake in the picture is a salt lake, and the people of Canez fish in the lake to get money for their village. All of Canez is thorns.

The people have no shade, no fresh water, no possessions, but all the hope and joy in the world. While some of the group went to build a structure to offer shade, others were a part of a medical tent. I was included in the medical group. I'd say half of the village showed up to the medical tent.

This family was one of the many reasons I will always remember Canez. This mother brought us her baby boy because he had been sick, but during our chat with her, we found out that her 3 other children are all deaf. She asked if we could find out if her baby was deaf, too. Time stood still for me a bit at that point. I panicked, I think. I was so afraid for her in that moment. We asked one of the guys in the group to come make loud noises behind the baby to see what he responded to. As the noises started, the other kids in the village began laughing at the silliness and trying to mimic the noises. The women's deaf children sat watching us. As the baby began turning his head to the left or right to follow the noise, I started crying. I was elated that that little boy could hear. I wanted to scoop him up and kiss his little head. to shake the mom's hand, and to hug everyone standing around. I celebrated on the inside.

The people of Canez are so beautiful, so joyful, so hopeful, and so loving. I can't wait to go back to them someday.

Haiti - Days 4 and 5

Going into the blogging about Haiti, I knew days 4 and 5 would be hard to sum up. I knew that it would be hard to make it accurate to my experiences without being overly emotional and dramatic. I knew a lot of things about blogging days 4 and 5... none of which helped me figure out HOW to do it. So, let's just start with pictures.This is Judson. He lives at the Cretch, which is the orphanage for infants through children around 8 years old. Judson is the exact description of precious. He's tiny and cuddly and smiley. He's got a great snorty laugh, and he babbles in his sleep. He's 6 months old and weighs 10-11 pounds. He has a problem eating which will need to be fixed with surgery, and he changed my life. That sounds like an exaggeration, but I can't explain to you how much it is not.


During the week, several of us were paired with babies who were sick. We each got our partner and made sure they got their medicine, were fed at the same time every day, and got extra love and care. Judson was my partner. His favorite place while we were together was laying on my chest, like the picture above. If I tried to put him on my lap, or on my arms, he would wiggle and kick and scrunch his nose up until he was back on my chest.


I would sit for hours each day like that. Just holding him close to me and letting him sleep or feeding him or letting him chew on his shirt or my shirt or a bib or anything else he could reach. Being the person to care for Judson that week was absolutely the most purposeful my life has ever felt. I was needed, I was loved unconditionally, and it felt like our hearts were made to be together for those few days. I believe that his being sick at that moment and my broken ankle were planned long ago so that we would have a few days together under the banana trees at the Cretch in Haiti. That Judson specifically was put in my arms out of all the other sick babies, that our nurse Pam thought to pair people from our team with sick babies from the orphanage, and that he was as content a baby as can be. That every small detail of this trip, and his life, and my life had been orchestrated by a God who knows exactly what Judson and I need every day of our lives. That week, we needed each other.

On day 5, we were told that it would be our last day in the Cretch, and that we'd be going to a village for the next days - to say our goodbyes. I cannot remember a time in my life where saying goodbye was more difficult. I couldn't look at his face without crying. I couldn't hold his hand without imagining my life without him in it. I couldn't say goodbye. It hurt on every possible level.



Judson taught me that family doesn't have to be organic. Children within my reach need mothers. I've got enough love in my heart to share with kids who need love. He taught me that adoption is not only a great option for some people, but that it's a great option for Dave and I. Because of the love I felt for Judson, I would be able at some point in my life to have a child by adoption and know that we could love each other well. Because of the love Judson showed to me, I could confidently say that I'll never be able to turn my back to the adoption needs in the world.


I found out a few days after the trip that Judson has a home in Wisconsin. He's got a family that loves him dearly that's working right now on getting him home on a medical visa. You can read about him and his family here.

Haiti - Day 3

The third day in Haiti was Monday, and the team split up early that morning to go to their designated work areas. Because of my ankle, I was in a chair making labels for an hour or so. I could hear the children in the orphanage playing and laughing in the rooms around me. I was a bit discouraged by that, but I knew my time would come to meet the kids. I wanted to be in there playing and laughing along with them.

A few hours into the morning, Nashmie was brought to me. All those discouraged feelings shot out of the window like they'd never been there in the first place. We played and sang and babbled at each other. Luckily for me, I didn't have to figure out Creole. Baby language is all the same. Is she not precious? She was happy and smart and loved to grab at things. Like noses.

She broke me. My heart was shattered and overfull at the same time. I wanted to laugh with her and cry with her. She initiated the cracks that overcame my heart and left me with a very weary soul after a few days. But with that sadness was also hope for her future and for my future, love that will never disappear, and good life-changing questions that have still got me churning 2 weeks later. We made a good team. As terribly scripted as it may sound, I'll always have a place in my heart for Nashmie.

Haiti - Days 1 and 2

As the plane lowered to Port au Prince, I could see kites flying above the city and bright colors on buildngs and blue rooftops. Though I thought I knew otherwise, Haiti looked like a happy place. As we lowered even closer, I realized that the blue rooftops I was seeing were actually tents. Tent cities were covering so much area. Much more than I had expected. We hadn't even landed the plane and I could feel Haiti already making its way into my heart.

The Port au Prince airport was affected by the earthquake, so baggage claim, customs, and everything else we experienced the first minutes in Haiti was held in this hanger. It was hot and crowded, but I was stuck in a wheel chair the whole time. There was a Haitian man working at the airport who wheeled me off the plane, through customs, down the street to our ride, and even found my luggage for me. Best customer service of all time. He was awesome.

As we rode from the airport to Bethel Guest House, where we were staying, we got our first real views of the destruction. There was so much to take in, as someone who had never been to a place like this before, every tiny thing was a new experience. I wanted to be able to walk around in the city and meet the people and smell the market and learn whatever else Haiti had to teach.

Driving through the city, one of the trip leaders brought to our attention that most of the collapsed buildings probably still had bodies in them. They have neither the equipment or the people to get in and get the people out who were trapped in January. I couldn't stop thinking of that every time we drove past a building like this one below.

Sunday morning we went to church. Easter Sunday in Haiti was really cool. Even though I couldn't speak Creole or understand much of it, (I could understand bits and pieces thanks to my years in French class) it was moving. Watching the kids playing in the aisles was hilarious. They were so interested in my boot and my crutches, which was a great way for me to get to meet some of them. A few of them were actually afraid of me because of the crutches... which was hard for me to deal with. I wanted to explain to them what had happened.

One boy I met at Bethel Guest House had been dropped off at the orphanage after the earthquake, and he was especially nervous about the boot. I'm not sure he came within 20 feet of me the whole time I was there. He would look at it and make a wide loop around me. His name is Junior.

Sunday after church we ate lunch and then headed to the orphanage for older kids. They're ages 8-21. We met a girl named Carmen who is 14. Her favorite color is pink and she likes romantic movies. We met a girl named Stephanie who was 19. She wants to move to Lousiville, KY to go to school for public relations or broadcasting. This is where she sleeps every night.

At the end of the day Sunday, my foot was swollen and sore and physically I was just completely worn out. But I was excited. I was excited to meet the babies the next day, to engulf myself in Haitian culture, and to be used in any way I could in the next week.

Hope and Timing

Let me start by saying I wasn’t sure this would ever make it to the blog. It’s just not the type of thing one goes shooting off to strangers about, but the past few weeks have been nothing if not a lesson in opening up and trusting. Even sometimes to strangers. So bear with me, please as I share a little more than you may expect.

There is something in me that has ALWAYS wanted to be a mom. I’m not sure if it was the big sister in me that just needed someone to take care of, or if I was just born to nurture. But I have, for as long as I can remember, wanted so much to be a mother. In elementary school when asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, I said without hesitation, “a mommy.” And I meant it from the bottom of my teeny heart.

Now, as a woman who has no children of her own, who is surrounded by hoards of pregnant woman and newborn babies, and has this strong natural inclination to be a mom, I have a lot of hurt. Hurt for women in the same position as I, hurt for myself for not having a child yet, hurt for my husband for being forced to trek over these same fears and wants over and over with me, and then more hurt for myself again. I go through periods of time where I’m fine with not having children yet. I can handle it, I can enjoy my life as a wife and as a free-to-do-what-I-like woman, and I have faith that “it will happen when it happens” as so many people say. But other times… I cannot handle it, I can’t enjoy my life without children, and I assume it will never happen for me.

Dave and I have been trying to get pregnant for a while now. Long enough that I have grown concerned, but not so long that I’ve seen a doctor. We’ve got time. I know that. And kind, thoughtful people keep reminding me of that. But I’m still here waiting and hurting.
Sunday afternoon in the car on my way to a meeting about our trip to Haiti, I was stressed beyond measure with planning and worry and financial concerns and being late and I just wanted to crawl back into bed and forget that the day had ever begun. But it had, and I was in the middle of it. So I just took care of things as they came. I wasn’t thinking about “my trip to Haiti” at all, I was thinking about the heat of the room, the stress I was under, the tasks ahead. I sat down at the end of a long black table in an office surrounded by the 30 other people who are heading to Haiti with me. Slides were flicking past, one after the other, depicting the children I’m going to meet in just 2 weeks. The babies. The babies that want so very much to have mothers, but don’t. The babies who live 24 hours a day in white rooms full of cribs because the last home they had crumbled to bits in a natural disaster, and the home before that was crumbling in a completely different way. The babies who need me to hold them, and feed them, and love them. And maybe I needed that too. I was filled with such an overwhelming hurt again. Not that I didn’t have my own baby to hold, but that these babies didn’t have their mothers to hold them, and how much worse that must be.

I’m not saying that being a childless mother isn’t hard. I’m not saying that it’s not important, because it is so hard and so important. But being a motherless child… I cannot even imagine. And through my hurt, I was also filled with fear. What if I can’t help these kids they way they need to be helped, what if I decide I want to adopt them – we can’t afford that, what if my heart is softening to adoption because I will not ever conceive a child, what if, what if, what if. And more slides ticked past. And more fears ticked past. And more smiles, and more cribs, and more tiny hands and feet, and more opportunities for me to let go of my stress and my fears and remember why I’m going on this trip in the first place. People are hurting everywhere. If I can make a difference in that world of hurt, I am certainly going to try. That may mean being uncomfortable, and being punched in the gut with others’ hurts, but maybe God’s timing and His compassion is so much greater than mine.

Information About Our Trip

To view this letter, just click below. It should expand.

Sufficient

I've talked about Depression here before, and how it affects me and the people around me. Today, I'm feeling good - so don't worry, mom and dad, but I do want to talk a little more about a specific time when "the funk" as I sometimes call it, got ahold of me. I told this story to a friend yesterday, and was reminded of how powerful it was... or is, I suppose.

The year we moved here to Nashville was hard. Really, really hard. I was alone almost all of the time. Dave was working 80-90 hour weeks with many nights spent out at the studio. I had no friends or family in Nashville, the closest ones were 8.5 hours away. So I spent a lot of time by myself in our 530 sq ft. apartment. I spent a lot of time feeling sorry for myself and a lot of time spiraling into the deepest depression I've ever experienced. One evening, I was dropping Dave off at work for another 2 or 3 day period away from him and trying my hardest to not show him the sadness I was feeling. Basically as soon as he got out of the car, I broke down. I don't remember a time in my life where I was crying harder than I was on that drive home. I pulled over a couple of times because I couldn't see the road through my tears, and when I finally made it back to the apartment and pulled into the parking lot - I had had enough. I was sad and angry and alone, and I couldn't deal with it any longer. I remembered the verse in 2nd Corinthians that says, "But he said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.' Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me." And that made me more angry. I cried harder to myself and to God, and I said, "YOU SAID your grace was sufficient. YOU SAID you wouldn't give me more than I can bear. Well this is it. This is not enough, and I'm not able to bear this. I can.not. live like this. WHERE ARE YOU?"

I walked inside to the apartment still sobbing, still feeling sorry for myself, still unable to handle the sadness. When I woke up the next morning - it was gone. The anguish, the tears, the hurt... all gone. It's as if God was standing next to me the entire time I was falling into the depression, holding His hands above me with all the grace and love in the world, and that He was just waiting for me to ask Him for it. He wanted so much to let me feel that, but I was too focused on my own despair to come to Him and ask Him to wrap me up in His arms. As soon as I did, He opened His arms wide open and I finally felt it.

His grace is sufficient. And His power is resting on me.

Peace

Something strange has been happening to me lately. I don't know what started it, why is has shown itself in my life, or how long it will last. It looks different than anything I've experienced before.

I'm pretty sure that it's contentment.

I've had such an overpowering sense of peace in the past few months and it's been strange to see. I tend to be the type of person who is always looking ahead to the next big thing in life, and I get anxious to change my surroundings (literally and figuratively). Even though several things I've been excited about have kind of fallen through - such as the nannying job I was so looking forward to, a couple of big art sales, and other miscellany - I'm just in a place of peace and joy.

A therapist told me once, "Joy and happiness are two very different things. You need both. Happiness is letting the outside in, joy is letting the inside out." So, I've been allowing happiness to seep in without the anxiousness that usually blocks it. I've prayed hard for this peace to last, for me to truly understand the hope God has given to me, and it's been followed by such joy. Filling me up and gushing out.